My 3-year-old came out of his bedroom last night, not long after he was put to bed.  His standard excuse of “needing to pee” was no surprise, but the hard-hat he was wearing had me utterly flummoxed.  As he trotted by I raised an eyebrow to my husband with a hushed “What’s the hat for?”  He whispered back that he’d suggested it to assuage the fears coming from the “ceiling might fall in some day because the crack over there is getting bigger” discussion that I’d faintly overheard at bedtime. We live in an old house, older brothers ask lots of questions, and little brothers interpret them more dramatically.  I had to turn my head away to hide the shaking of my shoulders as I found the entire situation hilarous.   I wasn’t terribly sympathetic, I confess, just amused.

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The horrors and devastation in Haiti last week are fresh in all of our minds.  The images, stories, and painful details continue to wash over us, prompting a variety of reactions and stirring up ideas and plans and projects. I’m reminded once again of a quote by my friend Nate Burgos of DesignFeast, which he wrote a few years ago as part of a manifesto.  I’m reprinting it here again, along with a slightly modified reprint of the original article it went with. 

“Disasters make change. They particularly defined 2005, from the Asian Tsunami to Hurricane Katrina.  They galvanized attention and simultaneously provoked a drive for innovation, whose essential value is betterment …. Bottomline: They incite change.  What lessons are afforded by disasters to innovators?   This manifesto aims to provide these essential, and reoccurring, truths that contribute to the quality of not only things, but also people and places. Disasters displace, but what is never displaced is the need to make life better.  This need, whatever the scale and wherever the setting, is shared by all of us, who possess the power to innovate.”

The quote excites me for a very simple reason.  I adore change. Really.  But at times I have a very hard time getting over my own hang-ups to pursue it. 

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I was talking to a friend this morning, struggling to deal with the reality of finances and where we’re at right now.  It’s not a nice place, and I’ve been getting very depressed about it. This time of year is always especially difficult, as my husband’s work inevitably dries up around November, and doesn’t kick in again till February or so.  We live hand-to-mouth pretty much all year, and have no credit because we can’t handle it, so the winter months tend to be faith-stretching.  I had a bit of a wrestle with God yesterday about it all.  Like I talked about rather abstractly last month, where the hell is my faith anyhow?

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Faith is a touchy subject. It’s a deeply personal thing, and something that varies widely from one person to the next. When push comes to shove, and you’re grasping for the reasons behind something that you can’t quite see, you find out where you’ve been hiding your faith. What or who are you trusting? The deluge of swine flu information got me thinking about it all a bit more than usual. Who or what am I trusting with my family’s health? How do I know I’m making the best choices? What should I do?

 

Faith has two main ingredients, with a twist.

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Knowing When It’s Time

We’ve been making noises for over a year now about moving out of the city.  The desire is there, the vision is getting more concrete, and yet the ways and means aren’t visible yet.  It’s been long enough that when I run into friends I haven’t seen in awhile, they often ask “So how are the moving plans going?”  I find myself cringing internally, as I don’t really have a solid answer.  They feel like they’re going nowhere, at least in any ways I can talk about.  I don’t want to appear wishy-washy, but have to say something about “getting closer.”  We are closer to checking off our last major get-done-in-nyc dream, but it’s not quite that simple.

When is it time to leave that job?   To make that leap?  To get rid of that possession?  To take that chance? 

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It’s not optional!

Your kids can always take your breath away. It doesn’t matter whether they’re inside you squishing your lungs, stunning you with their beauty, scaring you with a fall, yelling hurtful things at you, saying they love you, announcing that they’re moving out, or calling to say they’re having a baby. They’ll always have that power to take your breath away, and it only goes to prove the strength and poignancy of the relationship.

 

Lately mine have taken my breath away most often by the required clenching of my jaw as I try to refrain from saying something I’ll regret.

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Love is hard. It’s a verb. It’s something we do, not just feel. Or say. I got to see a friend last weekend for the first time in several years, and she reminded me that listening with love was a whole different ballgame than just listening. Activate it with love, and you can hear what’s really being said. Or hear, period. Active listening, the kind where you give 100% attention to the speaker, and hear what’s not being said too, is a gift to anyone.

Love is hard. It takes commitment, energy, compromise, and grace. Patience isn’t far behind either. Things that are in short supply around here when things get tough. Love waits. Ever hear the country song “He Stopped Loving Her Today?” Enough said. Love finds the joy, endures the crap, and holds the key. I got to see my grandma turn 93 a few days ago, and the love I have for that woman is as fierce as any I’ve ever felt. She lost her husband decades ago, saw her father die when she was 12, raised 7 kids almost single-handedly, and lost 2 sons early. I’ve never once heard her complain or express regret over her circumstances, just acceptance and thankfulness. She loves tirelessly.

Love is hard. It takes honesty, rawness, vulnerability, and trust. It can be incredibly lonely too. Unrequited love certainly is, but so are relationships at times. The closer I get to my husband, the more I realize the depths and the differences. The power to hurt, the pain of doing so. The chill of a pedestal. The warmth of a spirit next to yours, the fear of it’s absence. Acceptance of all, not just the pretty bits.

Love hard. Love actively. Find something to love in every person and situation, and you’ll hear the music of truth, feel the click of connection, and find your way until the day dawn, and the shadows flee away.

Handling Criticism: How Thick is Your Skin?

I had the experience a few weeks ago of having someone decide to tell me a pile of things they thought I needed to hear, none of which were complementary or pleasant. I took it all in, asked for details, and fell apart a few times. It hurt. A lot. I trusted the source of the comments to tell me the truth, though I knew there was some exaggeration involved. I couldn’t throw everything out as being irrelevant, despite the method of delivery. I was raised to speak the truth, in love, and while this exchange was short on love, I didn’t want to miss the truth part.

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